


Shit, Bro, Have Fun Handling Sutcliffe

by breadspoon



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Incomplete, assassin/handler au??, have fun reading trash lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-01-02 04:41:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21155771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breadspoon/pseuds/breadspoon
Summary: Grell is weird and Will is tired.





	1. No, Will, You Can't Handle This Heat

**Author's Note:**

> What am I doing with my life?

“I can handle him,” he says.

“Sutcliffe is a very… volatile character,” warns the manager. “You’re strong, but I’m afraid that--” 

"I can handle him,” says William again. “It’s not a problem. I wasn’t promoted for nothing, was I?” 

“Volatile character,” repeats the manager.

“I’m sure I’ve been through worse,” says William. He adjusts his glasses.

***

The manager gives him the file and his papers. William flips through them in his flat the next day, sipping his coffee. 

GRELL SUTCLIFFE, reads the file. Age: 26. Status: Alive, Level: Advanced, Ranking: Captain, Sex: Male. 

Sutcliffe is a pale-faced, thin man with intensely green eyes and long, long bright red hair. His eyes are framed by burgundy colored glasses. Looking closer, William can see that the glasses’ chain starts with a skull. He frowns. 

Volatile character, indeed. The hints of the assassin’s smile show traces of unnaturally sharp teeth. 

The Reapers' dress code is usually restricted to black suits and ties. Mr. Sutcliffe, however, wears a red sweater the color of his hair and extremely short black pants. The sweater slips off of one shoulder, exposing more of his white skin. His pale, smooth legs look like a womans’, and are perhaps even more--

William’s frown deepens.

Sutcliffe, in the photo, is flashing a peace sign at the camera. His eyes hold a something that makes his ears burn and him to close the file.

***

He is filing paperwork at his new desk when a whirlwind of red fire sweeps in front of him, with a loudly complaining voice to match.

“This is my new handler, Ronnie?” it screeches. “This utterly boring, drab man?” 

William stands. “Mr. Sutcliffe--”

“Oh, no, darling, mister will not do. I am a lady and will be referred to as such!” 

William cannot find words. “Ah--”

“Sorry, Mr. Spears,” apologizes Ronald Knox, one of the younger secretaries that William faintly remembers from the lawnmower incident a few years back. “Miss Sutcliffe, she’s a bit, um, extravagant. If you’ll please excuse--”

“Ronnie,” says Sutcliffe, “I’ve got to get to know this dullard a bit more. After all, it was your idea, and come to think of it, he’s not all that bad looking--” and the man is peering at William, leaning over his desk, much too close to his face--his eyes really are too bright, so green-- “--but a splash of color would definitely do him good. He’d look pretty in red, don’t you think, Ronnie--Ronald?” 

Knox catches Sutcliffe’s arm and is pulling him away. “Sorry, Mr. Spears, but Miss Grell has still got a bit of stuff to fill out and she’s got to clean out her old cubicle I mean office!” he yelps when Sutcliffe fixes him with a terrifying glare.

“Ta-ta, dullard,” says Sutcliffe. He wiggles his fingers at William and yanks his other arm free from Knox. “Honestly, Ronald, you didn’t have to pull that hard…”  
William is left with papers spread on his desk like scattered snow and his own glasses askew. 

He pushes them into place.


	2. Don't Judge Them They're Weird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> steb

They have their first victim: Thomas Wallis, the famous novelist. 

His writings have been veering dangerously close to exposing the existence of the Reapers for a very long time (five years, in fact). The original Master has dismissed it as pure coincidence for the first three, but after a new Master was elected he set out to destroy any threats to exposing to Reapers. 

William thinks that it is all just completely useless, but it’s his assignment and it’s not like he wants to lose his job (when you lose your job, you lose your life). 

A few days before the scheduled killing he visits Sutcliffe at his new office. 

Office 17, down Hallway 99, is a complete mess. Garish streaks of red slick the walls. The desk is overturned in a corner, papers are thrown carelessly around, two shelves are lined with strange, handsewn dolls… and in the middle of it all, Sutcliffe, spinning joyfully in a black chair, laughing maniacally while Knox stands helplessly in a corner. 

“Mr. Spears,” Knox says weakly. He nods at Sutcliffe, still spinning. “Miss Grell got a little excited.” 

Sutcliffe stops and frowns (William can’t help but notice that a dimple forms between his eyebrows when he does) at Knox. “Excited? That makes me sound like a little kid! I’m just celebrating.” he notices William standing in the doorway. “Oh, it’s you. Hello, dullard.”

“What the hell are you doing?” asks William. 

“Celebrating.” 

“Regular people celebrate with cake and champagne. You’ve made a complete mess out of your new office. You could be demoted for this!” 

“First, darling, I’m not regular people. Second of all, they can’t demote me. I’m of no use to them lower than a captain. And finally, what’s wrong with the room?” 

“First, may I point out the red on the walls, a shade suspiciously close to blood--care to explain?” 

“...” 

“What the hell.” 

“Red is the color of passion. This boring white room needed a spruce up!” 

William can feel a headache threatening to creep up on him the longer he stays with Sutcliffe.  
“Please tell me you’ve at least gotten your weapon of choice approved… the killing is scheduled in three days.” 

“Oh yes. It took a bit of persuasion but my darling chainsaw found its way through the board! Ronnie, we’ve still got to stamp a few forms but isn’t it lovely? It hasn’t been approved before now!” 

“Grell, it only made it through this time because you did a lap dance for Medical Head Druitt on New Year’s.”

“Hey, your lawnmower only made it through because of the makeup tips from me to that girl in General Affairs--”

“Can we not talk about my lawnmower every time I bring up the chainsaw?” 

“Chainsaw?” asks Will, finally breaking through the strange dynamic Sutcliffe and  
his secretary seem to have.

“Chainsaw,” confirms Grell. “It’s absolutely beautiful. Red, silver, loud roaring noise...” 

“It’s a regular chainsaw to me,” mumbles Knox. 

“Don’t you say that, Knox!” snaps Grell. “Your lawnmower--” 

“Augh, stop it with the lawnmower, will you!?” 

“Then don’t insult my chainsaw!” 

“What do you mean!? All I did was express my opinion!” 

Sutcliffe grabs the nearest doll, a blue one with an eyepatch, and tosses it at Knox. It hits him on his blonde top with surprising accuracy and force (Knox falls down, cursing). “Your opinion is insulting!” shouts Sutcliffe. 

Knox, in reply, grabs the eyepatch doll and thrusts it back at Sutcliffe. 

Sutcliffe catches the doll and grabs another from the shelf (long, silver-haired with a stitched smile) and throws the two of them at the secretary (who falls, screaming, “Don’t let the undertaker one touch me--!”). William watches with barely concealed disgust at the display of unprofessionalism and catches a glimpse of Sutcliffe’s blood-fire hair rushing past him as he and Knox switch stances on the battlefield. By now Knox is armed with a ruler and a purple-haired doll in a maid costume and Sutcliffe with the blue eyepatch one and the smiling, silver-haired doll. 

Knox is yodelling and jeering at Sutcliffe (“Your chainsaw is ugly! Your chainsaw is ugly!”) and William, still standing in the doorway, sees the light reflect on Sutcliffe’s glasses and the smirk of sharp shark teeth. He uncertainly backs out a few inches. 

Sutcliffe pounces. 

Knox screams.

William is ready to call a paramedic, because Knox isn’t getting up and Sutcliffe is covering him and Knox is thrashing and choking and VOLATILE CHARACTER! VOLATILE CHARACTER! 

“S-stahp--stop it, Grell--ah!--”

“This is what you get!” 

“Noo--please--nO NOT my neck! You know I’m--ahahahahahahaha! Stahp tickling--ow--hahahahha--” 

Sutcliffe is tickling Knox. 

That’s it. 

Wow. 

William touches his temple. The headache is raging like Sutcliffe on fire. 

He cannot stand this anymore. William walks into the room, takes a fallen scissor (bright acidic green with suspicious carmine stains) and calmly drives it up to the handle into the floor space next in between Sutcliffe and Knox. He leans in close to the former and says, “Stop it. Now.”

Sutcliffe gulps. His eyes, behind the glasses, are trembling and the pupils wide. William can practically count the strands of hair dusting down to his nose. He swallows, himself, and stands up. 

He adjusts his glasses. “Now, Mr. Sutcliffe, please finish with your forms and report to me when they are complete. I still have to give you your headset. Knox, clean up this room and both of you, dispose of those dolls. They’re disturbing.” 

He turns to leave. 

“Wait--” it’s Sutcliffe. “Did you just--what--?” 

“He just stabbed those scissors,” whispers Knox in awe, “into the ground. Wait, Mr. Spears! thought you were just a handler!?” 

But William is already gone.


End file.
